


The Black Death

by Nikkie2010



Series: Wait in the Wings [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Death, Disease, Gang Violence, Origin Story, Plague, Pre-War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-26
Updated: 2014-10-26
Packaged: 2018-02-22 17:18:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2515598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nikkie2010/pseuds/Nikkie2010
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: Polyhex: a filthy, gang-infested city where surviving takes skill, courage and loyalty. For Ricochet, it's all about fighting for him and Jazz to survive everyday gang fights and looming starvation. For Ratchet, it's all about surviving two vorns of an internship placement he never wanted. Ratchet's nightmare only worsens as an unknown virus spreads, and there is no cure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Time units:

Click – minute

Joor – hour

Orn – day (36 joors)

Decaorn – Cybertronian week (10 orns)

Quartex – month (4 decaorns)

Vorn – year

(Dark solstice: the furthest point of Cybertron’s rotation from its central star, reached every 2.5 vorns.)

Prologue

“Is it ready?” A baritone voice asked as he walked around the lab, examining various experiments meticulously categorised according to the logical mech’s specifications.

“We are entering the final phases of testing. The results have to date been satisfactory, but I require a testing field.” The single-opticed scientist stated as he stood unmoving in the centre of the laboratory room.

The second mech stopped wondering through the lab and turned towards the purple scientist. “When do you require this?”

The scientist was silent as he contemplated. “You requested this weapon to be ready by the dark solstice. In order to achieve that objective, you will need to provide me with what I require within the vorn.”

“That leaves eleven quartexes.” The voice stated matter-of-factly. “I am not sure if it can be arranged.”

“Then I am unable to assure that the weapon will be ready by the time stipulated.”

“You do realise that billions have been invested in this project, and it is also the main reason why the Senate has turned a blind optic to the ‘rumours’ running around regarding your ‘experiments’.” The voice warned.

The yellow optic narrowed. “Give me what I require, and you shall have your weapon.”


	2. Introductions

**Chapter 1: Introductions**

“Finally! We are finished with this place!” A sleek, red mech exclaimed as he walked through wide, iron gates and onto the golden street, spreading his arms wide as if ready to embrace the new world.

His companions followed with identical grins spread over their faceplates, each one thankful that the gruelling time at the Iacon’s Academy of Science and Technology was finally done, that they had finally succeeded in reaching their qualifications and that now the _real_ world awaited them.

“We have to celebrate!” The red mech said as he spun towards his companions, his cultured voice carrying with it an air of excitement that was infectious.

“Fine by me, Dino.” Ironhide exclaimed as he watched his excited friend. “Maccadam’s? I wanna drink myself into oblivion tonight.” He ended in a chuckle as he cast a side-ways glance at Ratchet.

“Why not? The oblivion thing sounds like a good deal.” Ratchet said as he stopped next to Ironhide, his chartreus colour complimenting the big, black bulk next to him.

“Yes, that sounds good to me. It’s been our spot for the past five vorns so it would be a perfect wrap-up.” An orange and black mech confirmed as he joined his friends outside the gates. Turning back towards the entrance, he addressed his friends. “Although I admit that I will miss this place.” He turned towards his companions with a rueful smile that quickly morphed into an uncertain frown. “Well, uhm, at least to some degree anyway.” He quickly added when he saw the incredulous looks directed at him.

Ratchet smiled and slapped Remedy on the back. “Yeah, I guess, but not yet. Let’s get going. I want an early start!”

“I will meet you there in two joors. I have to greet my creators first, but as soon as they are gone…” Dino wiggled his optic ridges and transformed into his alt. mode before speeding off.

_(break)  
_

 

Maccadam’s Old Oil House was a local favourite in Iacon, visited by Cybertronians from all walks of life. Located on the sixth floor of Iacon’s lower east quadrant, it was the perfect distance from the Iacon Academy to make it a favourite hot spot especially for the local student body.

“I am telling you the truth!” Dino exclaimed exuberantly as he slapped his hand down on the table, causing Ironhide to grab his drink to save it from spilling as they all laughed at the incredulous story. “I swear Prof Dyno was about to launch Wheeljack out of the lab right there and then!” He pretended to take hold of someone and throw him out as he finished his story, seating himself as he took another swig of his high-grade.

The others peeled over in laughter as they all pictured prim and proper Professor Dynamism running around the lab trying to catch a smouldering Wheeljack.

“Yeah, that mech has a very rare talent with explosions. I swear I’ve treated him more times for ‘accidental’ metal burns than any other mechs I know.” Ratchet laughed as he shook his head.

“Well, he seemed to take a liking to you after you treated him the first time, though.” Remedy pointed out as he waved his hand at the barmen to indicate he wanted another drink.

“Well, I am the only one willing to get up at odd times to treat him.” Ratchet conceded as he leaned to the side to allow the barmen to set another drink in front of Remedy. “Besides, we’ve grown to be good friends. After you get accustomed to his…odd…ways, he really is a nice mech. And it’s not like I haven’t done the same for you lot!”

“We’ll drink to that!” Ironhide exclaimed and lifted his cube in toast. The others echoed him in raising their cubes before downing their drinks.

“So, will Wheeljack be joining us? I heard he passed all his subjects, minus his lab experiments, with distinction.” Remedy asked as he leaned back in his chair.

Ratchet shook his head. “No. He just told me that he had an appointment that he couldn’t dare miss. According to unverified sources, he was called in by Cyclotron. I think about some special internship or something like that. He couldn’t really tell me.”

“Well! That’s a shame, since I have some very special high-grade here tonight to celebrate our success!” Dino said as he took a rather large decanter out of subspace and motioned the bartender over to bring them clean cubes.

“And what’s this?” Ironhide asked as he watched the bartender walk over and deposit four clean cubes.

Dino smiled slyly and poured each half a cube.

“Stingy, aren’t we?” Ratchet joked as he took his cube and sniffed it. It was not anything he recognised. “Is it safe?”

Dino smiled broadly at Ratchet as he lifted his cube and gestured for them all to do the same. “To us! For succeeding, for carving our own paths from here on out! May we always remain friends, and may we never see our professors again!”

Three cubes joined his raised cube in a chorus of cheers.

Ratchet took a sip of his own cube and was assaulted by a rich, velvety taste. His optic ridges shot up as he savoured the taste and gave Dino a pointed look. “You steal this from your creator’s?” He asked casually.

Remedy nearly choked on his cube at Ratchet’s statement while Ironhide chugged it down in one go, smiling brightly. “Well, if you did, you can do so again! That’s the best slag I’ve ever had!” Ironhide stated as held his cube towards Dino.

Dino laughed and poured Ironhide some more. “This ‘slag’, my uneducated friends, is not Towers High-Grade, this”, he held up the deep blue decanter, “is _Vosnian_ High-Grade.” He said triumphantly.

Three pairs of optics met his in disbelief.

“Dino, as much as I believe your sire is pleased with your results, I hardly believe that he would give you Vosnian High-Grade.” Ratchet said as he motioned Dino to pour him some more.

“Bah! Of course my creators would not give it to me, and no, Remedy, you do not need to look so mortified, I did not steal it. TC gave it to me.” Dino said smugly as he took another, tiny sip.

“Thundercracker gave this to you? What did you do? Scrub his ‘lordships’’ wings?” Ironhide asked as he took another sip, relishing the taste rather than throwing it down at once. Primus knew he probably would never have the opportunity to drink Vosnian high-grade again.

“Of course not! I do not ‘scrub’ anybot, except maybe you guys, but that’s different.” He said as he waved his hand in dismissal.

“Then how did you get this?” Remedy asked shyly. Out of them all, Remedy was always the bot to walk the straight and narrow, never wanting to break the rules and always trying, but often failing, to keep the rest of them out of trouble.

“TC and I did a lot of work together during the course of his stay at the university. You could say we have become something like friends. Not that we would call ourselves such, since I am, after all, a sleek ground-based model. Vosnians are very proud.” Dino said as he stared longingly into his cube, wishing that it would automatically refill.

“Oh really.” Ratchet drawled sarcastically. “ _They_ are proud? You looked in the mirror recently?”

“Ratchet? What kind of question is that? You know I always do before I go anywhere! I can’t be seen looking anything but perfect!”

Ratchet smirked. “I _humbly_ ask your apology, o perfect one.” Remedy and Ironhide both chuckled at that.

“You are forgiven, Ratchet. But only this once!” Dino replied playfully as he wagged a finger at Ratchet. “But, I have some insider titbit on the Seekers.” He said as he leaned forward, casting wary glances at the other mechs surrounding their table.

“And what is this ‘titbit’?” Ratchet asked as he leaned closer to Dino, mimicked by Ironhide and Remedy.

“Well, it appears that an arranged bondage, er, bond, is in the makings, one which will push TC’s family into the royal spheres.” Dino said as he wiggled his optics. “Apparently his sire has managed to arrange that TC be considered as a possible ‘Conjunx Endura’ for the royal seekers’ youngest brat.” Dino waited for his friend’s reaction to the interesting news. Unfortunately, he was sadly disappointed.

“That’s it? That’s the interesting titbit?” Ironhide asked.

“It has serious implications that could change things in the Senate!” Dino defended. “Thundercracker is a good mech, and more open than most of the Seekers or members of our caste. If he gets to be trined to this Starscream, his family will have much more power in the Senate and that could influence it dramatically since TC’s family will not only have considerable economic power, but will also then start having considerable political power! Vos might actually become more participating in Cybertronian state matters instead of focusing on their relationship with Tarn.”

“Wait! Starscream? Are you serious?! He’s not only a youngling, but one of the most self-conceited, arrogant upstarts that I know exist! TC will be a fool if the offer goes through! He can’t be that hungry for climbing the political ranks!” Remedy gasped, shocked that anybody would even consider such an arrangement.

“He’s right you know. It’s against Cybertronian laws to have a youngling as a trinemate.” Ratchet added, taking another sip of his high-grade.

“Whatever. I’m ordering another drink. I’m not overcharged enough yet and it’s obviously not going to happen on Vosnian high-grade.” Ironhide said as he got up and walked towards the bar.

Dino ignored Ironhide as he continued to delve into his gossip. “TC will have to wait until that brat is old enough to trine and has completed his studies at some science facility at Centurion. And no, TC is not that hungry to climb the political ladder, his sire is. He was bred to increase family wealth and status; it is his sole purpose in this world. The thing is, though, TC has his optics on another Seeker which is not of such high political standing. He is not exactly under his class, but neither is he in the top social circles. In other words, he would not advance TC’s family in any way. TC’s sire has therefore forbidden that they see each other, so TC went into an agreement with his sire. If he was allowed to trine with this other Seeker, then he would also trine with whatever mate his sire would decide on. Senator Contrail agreed and is in the process of arranging for Starscream’s hand. Not sure how he did it, but he did. So in a way, I hope it does go through. As I said, TC is a good mech.” Dino finished his story and the last of his Vosnian high-grade just as Ironhide re-joined them at the table with a large decanter of high-grade.

“Still discussing politics?” He asked as he sat down at the table and handed each another drink.

“I am starting my internship at the Senate in less than a decaorn, I would be a fool if I did not know the latest news concerned with political or economic affairs that could be of value.” Dino pointed out.

“Yes, I heard that you and Speeder got that internship. Congratulations!” Ratchet said as he toasted Dino.

“Thank-you. I am looking forward to starting. I will be based here in Iacon at the High Halls, so I don’t have to search for new residences. Such tiring work to find proper accommodation.” Dino stated as he looked around the bar.

“Yeah, I’m also lucky to stay in Iacon. The army has seen fit to deploy me here for further training.” Ironhide said smugly.

“Are you so smug because you get to test out the latest weaponry or because a certain hot-tempered blue femme is also stationed in Iacon?” Ratchet asked teasingly, knowing that Chromia was the current love-interest of his friend.

“Maybe. Can’t say that I’ve ever met a femme like her. Slag, I’ve never met a mech who could knock me out on the first go. She’s something special.” Ironhide said as he looked dreamily at the far end of the bar, his optics bright with the amount of high-grade coursing through his systems.

Ratchet shook his head as he laughed at Irondhide. Trust Ironhide to find brute-strength and hot-temperedness attractive. Not that Chromia wasn’t an attractive femme, she was just a very dangerous, volatile attractive femme.

“How about you, Rem? Where are you going for your internship?” Ratchet asked.

“I have the honour to go to Tarn. I will be working under the renowned Livewire at the Tarn City-State Hospital. I am very excited.” Remedy stated joyfully.

“Tarn falls under Shockwave, doesn’t it?” Ratchet asked dubiously. Rumours were alive of unverified atrocities committed by the science-driven Ruler of Tarn, but none could be proven.

“Yes, it does, but it is also a very good hospital and after Iacon and Praxus, one of the most sought-after hospitals for interns. I am really lucky to get a position there.” Remedy said, though some of the excitement and joyfulness bled from his voice at the possibility of his friend’s disapproval.

“Of course it’s great that you got the position there. And ‘luck’ has nothing to do with it. You’re smart and got good grades. I bet Doc put in a good word for you. He does, after all, choose our internships.” Ratchet stated dryly as he took another swig of his high-grade.

“Thanks, Ratchet”.

“And you? Where did you get placed?” Dino asked Ratchet as he took another sip of his high-grade.

“Ah, if you are the lucky ones, then I am the ‘unlucky’ one…I got placed at Polyhex.” Ratchet said ruefully as he lifted his glass in a mock-salute.

Dino chocked on his high-grade as Remedy turned wide optics towards Ratchet.

“Huh? What’s wrong with Polyhex?” Ironhide drawled as he looked at the aghast faceplates of his varsity-mates, before turning to Ratchet.

“Primus! What’s wrong with Polyhex?” Remedy muttered as he shook his head. “If it was Polyhex Minor there would be nothing wrong, but Polyhex! It’s the last place you want to go for an internship! The hospitals are horrible, supplies are lacking, equipment are more often than not broken, and the mechs there are, well, they are a different bunch altogether. Gang-wars, industrial accidents…”

“Not to mention Straxus. He is barely seen at senatorial meetings, and he is not concerned about his people at all. My sire complains endlessly about him and his ill-governed city. He says the mech is corrupt to the strut.” Dino added over the agitated ramblings of Remedy. “And then there is Senator Ratbat, ruler of the province of Polyhex. He…”

“Enough you two. Ratchet told his two companions, a hint of annoyance creeping in. “It’s not that bad.”

Remedy was about to retort when Ironhide laid a hand on his shoulder. “Yeah. Ole Ratch can handle anything.” He slurred as he reached for another cube. “But all of you are still too sober for my taste. So either we seriously start celebrating, or I’m gonna find myself some mechs who are willing to get wasted with me! We can worry about Polyhex tomorrow!”

“I’m with you on that one!” Ratchet said as he reached for his cube, outwardly nonplussed by his placing, but on the inside, it was a whole different story.

(break)

The city was even worse than he had imagined.

It was crowded, dirty and falling apart. The streets were covered with old oil marks and littered with discarded scrap and waste; while the usually shiny metal used to construct buildings were a dull grey. The city was furthermore dulled by the darkening clouds that ominously gathered and rumbled above the city, and the pollution caused by the nearby factories.

It gave the densely populated city an air of foreboding that made Ratchet’s armour crawl as he carefully maneuvered through the traffic towards the GPS location of the state hospital he was to work at.

To his dismay, the closer he got to his destination, the darker and filthier the city got. He finally pulled up in front of a medium-sized building, and transformed, staring at the structure in front of him.

There was nothing special about it, except for the words written above the entrance.

DISTRICT 3 HOSPITAL

So this was to be his life for the next two vorns. Great. Fragging great. Ratchet thought as he continued to stare at the unimpressive edifice.

To all appearances it looked more the size of a clinic than a hospital, and disturbingly dirty. Polyhex was indeed a far cry from the large, clean medical hospitals in Iacon.

The thunder grumbled in the background as Ratchet slowly started for the dilapidated hospital, his mood reminiscent of the weather.

He growled as he thought of the circumstances that had led to him being assigned to this backward juncture on the brink of the Tagan Heights, the industrial backbone of Cybertron. Interns rarely got assigned to this city, and it wasn’t as if there were no other internship positions open. No. His professor had deliberately assigned him here. All because of a slagging disagreement.

Venting hard, he entered through the somewhat-transparent doors of the hospital into the front portal and stopped abruptly. The waiting room was filled with mechs in various degrees of ill-repair, some with obvious trauma, others less so. Some mechs were holding wailing sparklings, trying vainly to comfort them, others just sat slumped in their chairs. All in all it made for a very sad sight, and did nothing to improve Ratchet’s mood for coming here.

“Urgent?” A clipped voice asked and Ratchet spun towards the sound.

A femme stood in front of him, her optics shrewd, but tired as she quickly ran a scan over him. “You don’t appear to be injured.” She said once she finished with her scans.

“I’m not.” Ratchet barked, before cringing at the harshness in his voice.

The femme lifted her optic ridges and placed her hands on her hips, glaring at Ratchet. “Well, visiting joors are over and quite frankly I think you are at the wrong hospital.” She quipped. Spinning on her heels, she marched towards the front reception desk.

Ratchet stared at the femme dumbfoundedly before giving himself a shake and scrambled to catch up with the femme. No need to make the orn worse and sour work-relations from the get-go.

“My apologies. I’ve had a long trip and I’m tired. I’m Ratchet.” He said in as amiable voice as he could muster as he reached the femme.

“Ratchet?” The femme drawled as she walked around the desk and stared at Ratchet expectantly, those optics ridges still arched high above her slender faceplate.

Ratchet cleared his vocaliser and inwardly cursed. This was a brilliant start to his internship. “Yes, I’m from Iacon Medical School. I’m posted here for a two-vorn internship?”

“Ah, the Iaconian. Explains a lot.” The femme snarked as realisation lit her sceptical optics.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Ratchet asked, he had a feeling that he was not going to get along with the femme in front of him, and his already fragile patience was nearing breaking point.

“Just what you want it to mean.” She retorted, mimicking his exasperated tone. “I will inform Dr Kaput that you are here. You will be under his mentorship.” She reached towards a datapad lying on her desk and handed it towards Ratchet. “Please fill your details in here so I could upload it to the system. Dr Kaput will be here in a breem.”

Ratchet absently took the datapad and started filling in his details. He was just finished when a tall, slender black and gold mech entered the room followed closely by a smaller blue-ish mech.

Once they neared him, the smaller mech gave Ratchet an once-over before smiling tiredly and giving a slight nod. He then proceeded to grab a datapad out of the red-tagged folder before calling out a number.

Ratchet vaguely noted one of the more obviously traumatised mechs rise to his feet cradling his arm, but had little time to process it as he was suddenly the victim of a very intense, and not overly friendly stare from the black and gold spindly mech.

“Ratchet.” The mech stated simply and Ratchet nodded, unusually unsure as to what to do.

“I’m Kaput. You will be under my mentorship while you are here. As you can see, we have quite a number of mechs waiting to be seen, so let’s not waist any more time dawdling in the front portal.” He turned towards the femme. “Luna, ensure Ratchet’s temporary quarters are prepared then tend to the green-labels.”

Without another word he grabbed another red-labelled datapad and called out the number. He walked three steps before turning burning optics onto Ratchet. “Well?” He demanded.

Ratchet cursed softly to himself yet again as he scrambled to catch up with his ‘mentor’.

Yip. Two slagging vorns. This was going to be fun.

(Break)

Ricochet stumbled tiredly through the door of his small apartment in the rundown neighbourhood of District Eight.

It had been a long, hard orn of manual labour at the Targan Heights Industrial Area, and he was looking forward to the few joors of downtown he had before he had to be back at the factories, or more specifically, the smelting pits. There were orns when he hated his job, hated his life, hated his very existence, but there was one reason that made him always trudge on, no matter the cost. And that reason would hopefully be at home.

“Hey Ric! Yer back?” a young, enthusiastic voice drifted from the single berthroom in the back of the apartment, followed shortly by its owner as a small, lithe silver frame came bounding into the living room.

“Hey Jazz.” Ricochet smiled at his younger brother as he watched Jazz head towards the dispenser, relieved to find that he was indeed home. “Pour me some energon, will ya?”

“Already busy.” Jazz replied as he filled one cube for Ricochet, then half for himself. He handed Ricochet his cube before heading towards the couch.

Ricochet eyed the half-empty cube Jazz cradled and for a moment he was tempted to ask Jazz why he didn’t take a full cube, but decided against it. Jazz was in his third frame and more often than not hated being patronised by Ricochet.

“How was school?” Ricochet asked instead once he had seated himself next to Jazz, unable to stop himself from frowning at the half-filled cube.

Jazz shrugged as he took a sip. “Before ya say anything, I drank half a cube earlier. And as ta school, same as usual.”

Ricochet smiled as he spared a moment to be thankful that he didn’t say anything, but also that Jazz had at least told him why he had only taken half a cube. Now he just hoped it was the full truth. “At least yer going.” Ricochet said as he continued to sip his energon, his systems starting to hint at needing recharge.

Jazz gave an elaborated sigh and sank further into the over-plush, worn-down couch. “Ah really don’t see why Ah have ta go. It ain’t like they’re teaching me stuff I need to know in order to survive. Trapper does.”

“Jazz we’ve talked about this. Ya need an education if yer ever going to get _out_ of here. Make somethin’ better for yerself. Become a musician. That’s what ya want, ain’t it?” Ricochet waved his cube towards the single window overlooking the street. “There’s nothin’ for ya here. Trapper takes care of us, sure, but Jazz, this ain’t livin. This is merely surviving!”

“Ric…”

“No, Jazz. Ah work hard to be able ta afford a decent education for ya. Please, just make the best of it while ya have the opportunity.” Ricochet pleaded.

When Jazz said nothing for a full breem, Ricochet deflated. “Jazz, please?”

Jazz turned his head towards Ricochet and not for the first time, Ricochet wished that Jazz did not have that damn black visor. It hid too much of what was going on inside of Jazz.

Finally, though, Jazz gave a small, reluctant nod. Jazz hated it when his brother pleaded with him because he always felt obligated to agree, but still, some part of him wanted to rebel. Trapper taught him how to survive on the streets – taught him how to fight, how to blend in, how to get into places you shouldn’t be, how to get energon. It was exciting, and it made Jazz feel important, like he was helping his ‘family’. But Jazz also knew Ricochet would not approve of his activities, so he didn’t tell him anything.

“Ah am old enough to work in the factories.” Jazz said trying an alternative route. “Ah could help make earnings.”

Ricochet shook his head and smiled fondly. “You focus on getting yer education and Ah’ll focus on payin the bills and energon.” Just then a warning sign flitted across his HUD, warning him of low energy levels and the need for recharge. “And Ah think Ah’ll focus on getting some recharge, too. What ya gonna do?”

“Ah think Ah’ll head out and hang with Trapper.” Jazz said as he got up and took Ricochet’s empty cube over to the waste bin.

“’K. Just stay out of trouble. And don’t go near the other districts!” Ricochet said as he headed to his berth.

“Yeah, yeah, Ah know.” Jazz remarked as he threw Ricochet a mischievous smile and sauntered to the door.

Ricochet heard the door close and sighed in frustration. He felt as if he was losing touch with Jazz, as if Trapper was becoming more important than anything else. Not that it was Trapper’s fault. They owed their lives to Trapper, and Trapper had always taken care of them. But Ricochet was concerned about what Trapper might be teaching Jazz, or worse, getting Jazz into.

Trapper was their district’s gang leader, and as such his dealings and methods were not always above board. Ricochet had asked Trapper not to get Jazz involved in anything illegal so that his brother would not be even more tainted when he got out of this city. But knowing Jazz… His HUD flashed another warning that he needed recharge, effectively cutting through his thoughts.

Ricochet sighed again as he lay down on the berth. He’d go talk to Trapper when he got up, if he had time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s notes: 1) I am trying to use as many canon characters as possible in this fic, however, due to the lack of appropriate characters, there will exist OC’s. However, they are fillers and will not be the focus of the story. With Kaput, he is a canon medical character, but I have taken some liberties with his frame. 2) I am using material from various universes for this story; therefore this is AU and not canon. I try to keep as close to canon as possible, but seeing as there are so many differences and clashes, I blend them for my own purposes. 3) If Cybertronian locations are a problem, that is because locations seem to be constantly moving around the globe depending on which verse you are in. However, for the sake of this story, I will make a few things clear in MY universe:  
> i. The Province of Polyhex is a province governed by Senator Ratbat. The Province is bordered by the provinces of Altihex, Kalis, Protihex, Tarn, Tagan Heights and the Rust Sea.  
> ii. The City of Polyhex is governed by Lord High Governer Straxus, who resides at the Fortress of Dark Mount (different, but adjacent location). The City of Polyhex is surrounded by Polyhex Minor (up style city), Tagan Heights (Industrial area), the Rust Sea and Dark Mount.  
> iii. Tagan Heights: main industrial area of Cybertron. Under direct governance by the Prime, but declared a Neutral area due to the fact that it holds 40% of Cybertron’s manufacturing capacity.  
> 4) Lastly, I base my description of the Polyhex government hospital on my own experiences. I come from Africa, and unfortunately our government or state-owned hospitals are terrible. The private hospitals on the other hand are superb, but only middle to high income people have access to those hospital. The poor need to go to clinics and state hospitals. A few years back I worked at such a hospital during a time when most of the medical staff in the neighbouring province went on strike. We literally had people lining the streets to see doctors not only from our own regions, but from other areas (some as far as 450km / 280miles). The opening medical scene was a basic description of what I saw when I first went into the hospital waiting room to fetch a green-tagged patient.  
> That’s it for now. I did try to check for grammar errors, but some always manage to slip through. So my apologies in advance.


	3. Exemplar

Chapter 2: Exemplar

Iacon: the golden capitol of Cybertron. Mechs from all over the planet would journey at least once a vorn to the magnificent city with its dome-topped buildings. Many would not only go there for tourist visits, but also for pilgrimages to the Celestial Temple, studying at the various universities and academies, and most importantly for business. Especially business pertaining to the state.

For Iacon was the main seat of governance in Cybertron, housing not only the Prime, but also the Lord High Protector, the High Council and the general assemblies. Because of that, many of the elites and nobles had apartments in the up-town Translucent Heights, preferring to be close to the senate hall, or The Loop, as it was called.

The Loop was located at the heart of Iacon, close to the Prime’s Palace, and was a spectacular building that boasted architecture stemming from the pre-Golden Age. Its high walls were engraved with Cybertronian Scripts and its two arching entryways were large enough to accommodate even an omega-class Cybertronian. But perhaps the most impressive of all was the theatre-styled Grand Senate Hall.

The outer walls of the hall were overlaid with rare-metals coming from the all over the galaxy, delicately plated into geometric shapes and attached in such ways as to lure the optics to the brightly coloured murals that depicted Cybertron’s Legend of the Thirteen. The two inner platform walls were no less-enthralling than the outer walls, with the engraved Cybertronian Constitution written in golden-hued metals. In the centre of the giant room, readily able to be seen by all, stood a raised dais. The dais was where a senator would stand and address the Prime and other gathered senators, all seated on one of the three platforms.

It was on the third and farthest level that Dino found himself on, watching with bored, sleepy optics as the various senators bickered to and fro over what seemed to him, menial points. The thinly veiled insults and circular reasoning were long past their amusement phase and Dino wished that the Prime would call for them to move to the next topic. But Zeta Prime seemed as interested in the discussion as Dino was, and it was not until Lord High Protector Cy-Kill gently nudged the Prime that he seemed to finally realise that his senate had fallen into bickering about who should be given more say in the running of Tagan Heights.

“Finally!” Dino muttered in his seat at the back of the Hall as Zeta Prime motioned the senators to move to the next subject. Thundercracker raised an optic ridge at his soft exclamation, but said nothing as he turned his attention back to Senator Ratbat who had taken the central dais.

Dino watched through bored optics as Senator Ratbat looked at everyone appraisingly before turning to face the Prime.

“More must be done to control the growing population of Cybertronians! It is getting out of hand!”  He exclaimed loudly and, to Dino, more dramatically than was needed.

“By allowing the lower classes to continue kindle their own new sparks, they not only threaten to disrupt the delicate balance within our society, but also the sanctity of the work of the Priests! Only those of nobility and high social status should be allowed to kindle , while those of the lower classes should seek out Priests.”

Senator Ratbat turned towards the other senators, his optics lingering briefly on Senator Contrail, representative of Vos, before moving continuing his sweep of the floor.

“The lower classes threaten our hard-built society because of this unchecked population growth. Their growth will outgrow, or rather, has already begun to outgrow that of the need for labour, and that will finally lead to a burden of the state!” He turned to the Prime.

“Our resources are already stretched! Not only do we already provide social grants and lower taxes to the lower classes, but the very core of Cybertron is being taxed, drained of its life-giving fuel!”

He turned back to the audience and gauged their reactions before continuing. “Overpopulation may even lead to war! Fuelled by unemployment, high energon prices, poverty and fear, the masses will cause unrest in our peaceful, but already troubled society.”

Dino watched uncomfortably as Senator Ratbat turned back to the Prime and squared his shoulders. “Something, my lord Prime, must be done to stop this before it’s too late.” He said in a quiet, but firm voice.

Immediately the great Hall burst into activity as the different senators began bickering about the validity of the statements.

“What do you think?” Thundercracker leaned over and whispered to Dino.

Dino shifted uncomfortably in his armour. It wasn’t that he did not agree that overpopulation was a serious problem, but it was also an _ethical_ problem. You couldn’t just tell mechs to stop having sparklings. Dino cleared his vocaliser uncomfortably before turning his head towards Thundercracker. “I agree that something needs to be done, however, it’s not a very, uhm, I don’t know how to put it? It’s a delicate subject.” He ended off lamely.

Thundercracker nodded and opened his mouth to reply, but before he could say anything, their conversation was erupted by a single voice that rose above the rest.

“I disagree, lord Prime!” Senator Levitacus exclaimed as he made his way towards the dias.

“You disagree that overpopulation is a problem?” Senator Ratbat turned towards him with a sneer.

“No, I agree that it needs to be managed, however, the methods employed needs to be delicate and well-balanced. By forbidding the lower classes to kindle, you will only be increasing the divide that already exists in our, as you so amply stated, peaceful, but troubled, planet.”

“The lower classes do not attach the same worth to their kindled sparks as do the higher classes!” One of the senators shouted and the room immediately erupted and divided again.

“This is going to be a long orn.” Dino said as he leaned back in his chair, watching and listening to the non-ending bickering of the senators.

“They should be banned from kindling!”

“They should be educated!”

“Let the Priests decide who may have sparklings!”

“They should be allowed to kindle, but should be informed about the dangers of overpopulation!”

“They should be offered rewards or incentives if they don’t kindle or requisition for sparklings!”

“ENOUGH!” The Prime’s voice reverberated through the domed room as the senators fell silent.

“Overpopulation is a problem. I suggest the High Council meet to discuss the implications, ramifications and possible solutions, but for now the senate is adjourned.” The Prime finished as he turned and left the room.

Dino watched Senator Levitacus as he returned to his seat, a troubled look on his face while Senator Ratbat openly smirked in his direction. Briefly Dino wondered what power-play was afoot, but quickly shoved that thought to the back of his processor as they interns all rose before the elder, higher-ranking senators began to file out in a somewhat dignified line.

“That was intense.” Thundercracker murmured as they headed towards the exits.

“Yes. Not many are pleased that it has been moved to the High Council for consideration.” Dino replied.

“Maybe it’s better this way.” Thundercracker shrugged as he looked around at the other interns. He frowned slightly as he noticed the other interns discussing the same subject. “Though it seems as if the subject has garnered some mixed feelings.”

“Indeed it has. This should not have been moved to the High Council. This is of importance to the general populace. It should have been kept in the general assemblies.” Dino said sullenly as he too listened to the on-going conversations.

Thundercracker smiled as he lightly jabbed Dino in the side with his elbow. “You sound like your sire.”

Dino looked at him and quirked an optic ridge. “You do not agree with me?” He asked as they exited the Hall.

“It appears that the subject causes a lot of lively conversation, so maybe a few mechs deciding on a course of action is better than many bickering back and forth on the subject without reaching consensus?”Thundercracker countered.

Dino gave an irritated vent. “You’ve heard the rumours. What happens in the High Council is not always for the best of the mechs on the streets, but to whatever is best for the upper classes.”

Thundercracker looked around then leaned closer to Dino, his optics serious. “Be careful what you say, where you say it. You don’t want to have your internship ended because of some ungrounded rumours.”

Dino stopped and laid his hand on Thundercracker’s arm, arresting his movement. Leaning in closer, so that there was only a few inches between them, Dino lowered his voice, “If you really believe they are ungrounded, then why the warning?”

“There are many things we do not yet understand in this political pit that we have decided to carve our paths in, but to speak prematurely of things we do not understand, or cannot be verified, may be political suicide. The warning is only to be careful of what you say, where you say it, and when you say it.”

Dino stared a moment longer into Thundercracker’s sombre optics, trying to gauge the blue Seeker’s attitude, before giving a curt nod. He released Thundercracker’s arm and motioned them to continue walking.

“Very well. I should return to Translucentica. No doubt my sire would want my opinions on the matter. You?” Dino asked as he settled his bright red armour across his frame in a more relaxed posture.

“No doubt Lord Contrail would wish to discuss the same with me. So then, I will see you tomorrow?”

“Indeed, tomorrow it is then.” The two friends greeted each other and headed in their separate ways.

(break)

“Ratchet!”

Ratchet silently cursed to himself as he dropped what he was doing and sprinted towards the hard voice of his mentor. He barely made it into the room before Kaput started barking out orders.

“Get the IV line running. 12mm of fexofenadine!”

“12?” Ratchet asked incredulously, hesitating for a split second.

“NOW!”

Ratchet growled and grabbed the fexofenadine and ran towards the convulsing patient before injecting the required dosage into the IV line. He quickly scanned the patient’s vitals. “3mg of CHO?”

Kaput gave a nod as he continued to focus on stabilising the patient.

Ten breems later the patient was stabilised and resting.

“Slagger. Get his medical records updated!” Kaput barked over at Diaz as he stepped back from the patient.

“What was that?” Ratchet asked Kaput as he readied himself to return to his own patients.

“His systems reacted negatively to previous medication. He went into a seizure.” Kaput shrugged as he wiped a hand tiredly over his face. “Don’t you have a patient waiting?” He asked when he saw Ratchet looking at him observingly, his temper flaring.

“Yeah, but you...” Ratchet opened his mouth to inform Kaput that he thought he should get some rest, but was stopped when his arm was taken by the small blue mech and dragged out of the room, leaving Kaput to himself.

“He doesn’t like it when we tell him he should get some rest.” Diaz stated softly before glancing up at Ratchet with that characteristic tired, but warm smile that Ratchet had begun to expect.

In fact, Ratchet mused to himself, since he met Diaz the first orn almost a quartex ago walking alongside Kaput, he had noted that the mech almost always wore the smile, though sometimes just more tired than other times.

“Doesn’t mean he doesn’t need it.” Ratchet cast his companion a shrewd, side-ways glance. “Guess he’s not the only one.”

Diaz gave Ratchet’s arm a squeeze before he let go and continued down the hall towards the waiting room. “We all need the rest. But the patients need us more than we need it. As long as there are patients to care for, we will be here. But make no mistake Ratchet, you coming here has been an immense help.”

“Doesn’t feel like it.”

Diaz chuckled softly. “Believe me, you have. But you have a patient to care for, and I need to give Luna an update on what just happened. See you around.”

At the mention of Luna’s designation Ratchet felt his armour bristle. His instinct that he and the nursebot were not going to see optic to optic had been very true. She treated him as if he was some kind of pest dragged in from the badlands. Not that he made it easy for her, either. Ratchet shrugged internally to himself. As long as she did her job and he did his, and provided they stayed out of each other’s ways unless absolutely necessary, they could live in the same hospital.

Ratchet entered back into his tiny examination room and to the mech who sat staring wide-opticed at him.

“Everythin’ ok doc?” He asked.

“Yes, pardon the interruption, er...” Ratchet glanced down briefly at the patient’s data-folder, “...Whirl.” He smiled and went back to examining his patient.

“So yer gonna stay here, awhile at least?” The mech wheezed as Ratchet plugged into his arm-dataport.

So this was the chatty kind of patient. Ratchet grunted acknowledgment as he started with diagnostics. He was immediately bombarded by error messages from the mech’s systems.

“When was the last time you were here?” Ratchet frowned as he noted the various lists of damages – both new and long-term, and some appeared to have been self-repaired.

The mech’s engines gave a rather disturbing shudder before he started coughing. Ratchet laid a comforting hand on the mech’s back and waited it out while at the same time taking stock of the new error messages popping into his HUD.

“Sorry.” The mech wheezed after the coughing-bout had seized. “I don’t often get to come.” The mech finished as he ducked his helm, away from Ratchet’s piercing gaze.

“You have more error messages than functioning reports. You should have come long before your engines picked up this wheezing.” Ratchet said, preferring to ignore the fact that the mech had not answered his question. He would just have to look it up in the mech’s file.

“It ain’t always so easy, doc, comin’ here.” The mech said, embarrassment leaking into his field.

“Why’s that?” Ratchet asked as he indicated the mech to recline on the berth.

The mech looked strangely at Ratchet before complying. “I’m a watchmaker in District Five.”

“I don’t see how that influences your decision to come here or not.” Ratchet said and waited. After the mech didn’t say anything for at least a breem, Ratchet decided to drop the subject. If the mech didn’t want to share, he wasn’t going to push him. “Right. I’m going to place you in stasis while I switch the filters and flush your systems. It will help with the wheezing. Here is a list of all the vital repairs that I need to do, as well as a list of highly recommended repairs.” Ratchet databurst the contents to the patient and waited for his confirmation.

The patient swallowed hard as he checked the list of damages. “What will the costs be for the recommended repairs?”

Ratchet frowned at that. “This is a state-hospital. Depending on your income, you will be required to pay the consultation fee, but nothing else. The consultation fee will at the most be 15 Shanix.” Ratchet sighed, this was so different than the hospitals he was used to working at. “The only reason I sent you a list of recommended repairs was because I require your permission to make them.”

The patient searched Ratchet’s optics before he nodded and shuttered his optics.

Taking that as permission, Ratchet continued with the repairs, his processor continuing to loop back to the strange conversations he had had, not only with this patient, but also with many of his previous patients at the hospital.

 It appeared as if certain orns he would only get patients from certain districts, and certain districts’ mechs, namely district five and eight, were in worse repair states than districts four, six and seven. Yet, that could be explained because most of the patients they saw were from districts four, six and seven, but it also didn’t make sense why districts five and eight were so reluctant to come.

Ratchet had at first thought that the mechs in those districts were in need of less repairs, but the more he dealt with patients from these areas, the more he came to realise that those mechs were in need of _more_ medical attention.

These thoughts kept filling his processor as he continued to repair his patient, but after a while he decided to shove those thoughts to the back of his mind and ask Kaput, or Diaz, about it when he was done with his shift.

(Break)

Jazz scurried down the alley, ducking in and out of corners and sticking to the shadows. His sensors were at their highest setting as he made his way through District 7 back towards his District. He knew he wasn’t supposed to be in this district, but it was the shortest route home and at this late joor most of the mechs would either be recharging or at night shift. Besides, he was very close to the borders of the two districts, and once he was across, these mechs couldn’t touch him. It was something he had done numerous times. He was quite good at it if he had to say so himself.

He dove behind a few old discarded boxes when he heard a door just up ahead in the alley open. He closed his optics and focused on being as quiet as he possibly could as he heard two, maybe three mechs exit the building. He silently prayed to Primus that they would move towards the street.

He would just have to wait it out, and hope that they didn’t pick up on his spark signature. Slag, he really needed to learn how to manipulate his field so that his spark signature would remain hidden. But Ricochet had been adamant that Trapper not teach him because it would only encourage him to sneak through the other districts.

Jazz smirked. Not that it _stopped_ him from sneaking into the other districts either. Jazz enjoyed the _thrill_ it caused him. He knew the consequences would be dire if he was caught, but for some reason that did not deter him in the least. The fear he felt only made it more exciting, and he had never been caught before.

Jazz was drawn out of his musings when he heard one of the mechs greet the others, then made his way towards the street. _Ok, one down two to go._ Jazz thought. He hoped that they would turn and go back inside the building.

His tanks clenched as he heard them amble towards him instead and he quickly went through his option. He could either remain hidden, and hope they walked past or he could jump them, and then dart towards the exit, but Jazz quickly dismissed that option. Not only would he be severely outmatched and out-classed even given the element of surprise, he could not be _seen_ in this district, never mind _caught_.

 Jazz hunched down even more as the mechs came to a standstill a few metres from him, talking about mundane things while sipping a cube of energon.

Jazz felt his tanks cramp as the smell of the energon drifted past him. He hadn’t refuelled since he had been with Ric, and that was almost five joors ago. He was running low on fuel. Perhaps he would be able to swipe some fuel from one of the buildings in the area, however unlikely.

Energon was closely guarded, especially good energon. The lower-grade energon, although more widely found than the good stuff, was still hard to get and most were kept in personal dispensers that were activated by a code. And those dispensers were refilled once a quartex at the reservoirs at Darkmount Fortress, the residence of Lord Straxus.

Jazz cringed as his tanks gave an involuntary low rumble and the two mechs stopped talking.

“Ya hear somethin’?”

“Yeah, sounded like it was comin’ from over there.”

Jazz cursed softly at his luck. Guess he was going to have to go with option three – run for it.

Jazz bolted from his place, vaguely aware of a shout of surprise, and then some very impressive swearing. He was also uncomfortably aware of the trouble he was in when he heard the sound of transformations and then gunning engines.

 _Frag!_ He thought as he ran out of the alley and onto the open streets. He immediately sought another side-street, thankful that the district’s streets were the smallest and most twisted in Polyhex. It made losing unwanted company easier, but if one took one wrong turn, well, it could mean serious consequences and not only to him.

“There he is! Get him!”

Jazz turned into the first side-street that came his way, wishing that he was already in his final upgrades so that he could have had his own alt-mode. Not far behind him, he heard his pursuers revving their engines.

“Immobilize him!”

At those words Jazz felt the first inklings of fear trickle into his systems. If they were to catch him…but he quickly shoved those aside. He could lose them.

Jazz sprinted towards the closest building. He wasn’t going to lose them in the alleys, so maybe if he could run through one of the lower buildings it might just buy him some time.

Jazz turned sharply and rammed through a door, eliciting a bout of cursing from some poor mech jolted out of recharge. Jazz laughed as he ran through the building and out into the street again, making sure to keep heading in the direction of his District.

He had just run through another building when strong arms grabbed him, lifting him off his pedes and pinning his arms to his side. “Gotcha!” The voice above him snarled. “Psyche’s gonna want a word with you!”

Jazz felt the energon drain from his face at that name.

 _Psyche_.

He panicked.

He tried loosening the mech’s hold, kicking and thrashing and twisting, but the hostile arms only tightened around him, buckling his light armour.

Jazz could hear another engine closing in on them, and his mind raced to think of some way he could break the mech’s hold on him. He had to do something, if Psyche got his hands on him…

_Think! Just think!_

Jazz suddenly slumped forward, causing the mech holding him to lean forward as he compensated for the dead weight in his arms. Jazz used the opportunity and rammed the back of his helm into the mech’s face, catching him off-guard. The mech let out a painful, surprised holler as he let go of Jazz and staggered backwards, reaching with his servo’s towards his energon-soaked face.

Jazz hit the ground running, true fear licking at his tanks for the first time. Jazz knew he was as good as dead if Psyche got hold of him, and that would only lead to trouble with his district…and Ric. _Primus what would happen to Ric!?_

Jazz knew he should get off the streets. If he could make it to the roof, he would be able to take a more direct route towards his district. Towards safety.

Propelled by fear, Jazz ploughed through the exterior door like it wasn’t there. He lost his balance and sprawled face-first onto the stained floor of the dim hallway, just as he heard the sound of screaming breaks and hasty transformations. He scrambled to his feet and launched himself up the stairs leading to the roof, three at a time. His spark pulsed wildly.

A warning ping in his HUD warned him of another problem – his fuel levels were getting dangerously low. _Frag, frag, frag!_

He ducked instinctively as a loud _crack_ sounded, and a tiny geyser of sparks and metals fountained from the wall. The fear that had gnawed at his tanks now threatened to engulf him. _Can’t let them get me! Not here!_

Another shot went off and Jazz dodged to the right, the shot barely missing him. But he never stopped. Never looked back.

He finally reached the top level and charged towards the edge of the building, launching himself towards the next. He was almost to his district, to the safe zone. Just thirty metres to go.

Jazz risked a brief glance behind him only to see two mechs chasing him. One holding a blaster.

Jazz jumped over the next small alleyway. His lighter frame made it easier to jump the gaps between buildings, but Jazz could feel himself losing speed. He tried to speed up, but there was nothing left in his legs.   _No, no! Not now, come on!_

His vents were heaving, trying desperately to cool his frame as energon pounded in his audials, almost drowning the _thump, thump_ of the larger mechs’ heavy treads. Ten metres. So close!

When he heard the mech’s pedesteps stop abruptly, Jazz knew he was in trouble. He heard the loud _crack_ of the blaster at the same time an invisible fist slammed into his left shoulder, and he staggered as he propelled himself towards the last building.

Thirteen steps later and he made the final jump into the safe zone. As his pedes hit the rooftop, his knees buckled and he fell into a pitiful heap on the roof. Jazz desperately tried to haul himself back up, but his frame refused.

Distantly he was aware of more voices, shouting, cursing, of someone kneeling next to him, checking his shoulder. But everything was fuzzy.

Jazz groaned as he was lifted into a sitting position and the haziness in his processor cleared enough for him to make sense of the voices.

“I said, Back. Off!”

“The little miscreant was in our district!”

“He’s in ours now and Trapper will take it personal if ya hunt our younglin’s!”

Angry revs reverberated through Jazz’s frame, not only from the mech he was braced against, but also from those around him.

“Ya can be lucky he made it. Next time Ah won’t miss.”

“Back-off! Now!” the voice close to him growled and hissed angrily.

Jazz felt his processor haze over again and dropped his helm back against whomever was supporting him. _Safe. Made it_. Was all that ran through Jazz’s thoughts as he drifted off to recharge, the warning beeps in his HUD lulling him. An energon cube was pressed to his lips and he was forced to drink, chocking on some of the fluid as it slid into his ventilators.

“He gonna be ok?” The voice that had spoken to the mechs chasing him asked, concern evident. Jazz thought the voice sounded familiar, but all he could think about was recharging. Jazz stirred briefly as he felt himself being lifted, his helm rolling from side to side, but too tired to care.

“Let’s get him to Trapper.”


	4. Trouble Brews

Chapter 3 – Trouble Brews

 

“So Round-up gets to go home, on medical leave for an orn, and then back to work. He just needs that written up” Ratchet wrote on a pad and then handed the pad to Luna, who grabbed it with an annoyed huff.

“I know my job, _Medic_ Ratchet.” The femme quipped as she turned on her pedes and marched back to her domain.

“Femmes!” Ratchet cursed under his breath as he shook his head.

A light-hearted chuckle reached his audios and he turned to watch Diaz walk up to him. “I’m honestly beginning to think she’s warming up to you.”

“Oh really? The way she said _‘Medic’_ sounded more like I was some kind of horrid virus.” They both watched Luna round her office to take a seat and started pulling datapads towards her.

“Well,” Diaz cast him a mischievous smile, “at least she isn’t ignoring you anymore.”

At that Ratchet gave a bark of laughter. “Noted. So when she starts liking you she starts insulting you?”

“Exactly!” Diaz beamed at him, but then lost some of his mirth. “Thing is we aren’t use to medics coming here and sticking around for long. Especially not Iaconians. You’ve been here for a bit more than a quartex, which is a record. You’re pulling your weight here, and that is what matters. Luna and Dr K sees that.”

“I don’t understand why mechs won’t be willing to work here. Granted the hours are rough and the pay not what you would get at a larger facility, but the experience is good and you’re helping mechs that fragging need it.”

Diaz gave a small shrug and pulled his field in tight. “Politics, Ratchet. Even here half-way between the slums we have politics ruling our trade.” Diaz bit out as he headed towards the waiting room to call the next patient.

“I don’t understand.” Ratchet said as he jogged to catch up with him. “Politics?”

“Please tell me you’re smarter than that? Haven’t you noticed anything while working here about the…” Diaz stopped abruptly and focused inward.

Ratchet stepped away to give Diaz some privacy even though he couldn’t hear what was being discussed over the comm line. But his attention was snapped back to Diaz as his field pulled inward and he became dead serious.

“Ratchet, I need you to see my next patient.” Diaz ordered and turned on his heel, not waiting for Ratchet to acknowledge him.

Ratchet was tempted to call after Diaz and ask what the matter was, but he let it drop. It wasn’t his place, and if Diaz wanted to tell him he would in his own time.

Ratchet walked towards waiting room and called the next mech.

He saw a scratched and filthy blue, heavy-weight frame get up slowly and lumber towards him. Ratchet tried his best not to grimace as he heard the burdened rumbling of the mech’s engines.

Ratchet showed him into an examination room and motioned him to sit on the berth.

“Where is Dr Diaz?” The mech rumbled.

“He had to tend to an emergency. Do you mind if I did the examination?” Ratchet asked as he onlined the mech’s medical file. One thing he _had_ noticed was that mechs were weary of new comers, and that they often wanted the same medic to treat them.

The mech was quiet as he watched Ratchet closely. “You may.” He finally said when he seemed satisfied with what he found.

“Good. Mind telling me if there is anything specific you might want me to look at?” Ratchet asked as he did a basic scan on the mech. There was definitively a lot of maintenance work to be done.

“My engine, and”, the mech hesitated before continuing further, as if unsure if Ratchet should be allowed the trust, “my fuel pump.”

Ratchet nodded and did an in-depth scan. It was another thing he had noted, trust was _earned_. Some mechs would easily hide what was wrong with them, only to land back in the clinic the next decaorn. It was frustrating to say the least, but Ratchet was earning trust among some mechs, albeit slowly. He hoped that the longer he was at the clinic, the more mechs would start to trust him.

The results beeped back at him and Ratchet barely kept the grimace in check. He checked the mech’s engine, but he already had his suspicions that the two were connected. “Have you experienced a lack of feeling in your outermost extremities?” Ratchet asked as he continued with his deep scans.

After a moment where the mech did not answer, he looked up into the puzzled optics of his patient. Ratchet sighed internally. He still had to get used to the level of education in the areas, and not all the mechs understood terminology that was basic to him. Instead he smiled as he rephrased his question. “Do your fingers, hands or pedes sometimes go numb? Like you can’t really feel them or use them?”

The mech shifted uncomfortably and nodded.

Ratchet made a quick note on his file and waited for the deep scans to finish before he motioned for his patient to take a seat in front of the desk as he took his own.

“Alright. I’ve got good news and some bad.” Ratchet began. “The bad news is that your fuel pump needs replacement.”

The mechs shoulders sagged at the news, but he gave an affirmative nod and Ratchet continued.

“The pump is responsible for the lag in your engines, as the liquids are not properly circulated in your frame causing air pockets that damage your engine. That also causes the lack of feeling in your arms and legs. The good news is that we can replace your pump. I prefer that we do it sooner rather than later.” Ratchet quickly checked the surgical schedule. “I can put you on the surgical list in two orns from now. I’ll also ensure Dr Diaz is your main surgeon.”

Ratchet started inserting the details into the available timeslot on the datapad he held when the mech grabbed his wrist.

Startled, Ratchet looked up into the mech’s optics and saw fear there. “I’ll come next decaorn on the same day.” The mech said as he got up.

“Alright,” Ratchet said as he tried to hide the confusion in his voice, and knowing that he probably failed. “But you need to keep still. Your pump can’t handle too much stress and next decaorn is pushing it.”

“I’ll rather take my chances with the pump.” The mech said and exited the examination room, leaving a very confused Ratchet.

He looked at the schedule again and couldn’t see anything that would be out of the ordinary. Perhaps the orn…

It clicked and Ratchet drew up the surgical list. Yes, this mech was from District Five, while all the mechs on the surgical list were from District Four.

He smirked. _Politics_. He had to have a talk with Diaz sometime soon about exactly _what in the Pit_ was going on at this clinic.

(Break)

Diaz quickly, but carefully, made his way through the narrow streets of District Eight towards Trapper’s apartment. The emergency comm he had received had been vague enough – one of their members had been shot and was in need of medical care.

Diaz cursed once again at the gang politics that ruled the Green District’s hospital and the authorities that turned a blind optic.

Diaz transformed even before he came to a stop in front of Trapper’s apartment and greeted the mech that was sent to escort him up.

“Brief me on the situation.” Diaz said as they sprinted up the stairs.

“It’s Jazz.” The mech said and Diaz felt his coolant stop. Primus it was one of the younglings.

“He was makin’ his way back from the youngling centre when he ran into some trouble. We were able ta stop ‘em from killing him, but he still took a shot ta the shoulder.” The bot stopped as they reached the door and briefly spoke with another mech.

Diaz didn’t care about formalities and pushed past the guards-mech. His optics were immediately drawn to the youngling’s unconscious frame laid out on the plush couch, a large, gunmetal grey mech seated next to him.

He hurried to Jazz’s side and was vaguely aware of Trapper moving out of the way to allow him some space.

“Ah’ve already clamped some of the lines, but Ah’m no medic.” Trapper said by way of greeting as he moved to the other side of Jazz, his concern evident as he closely observed everything the medic did.

Diaz quickly set up an energon transfer to bring Jazz’s levels back to normal. Pit, the mechling was nearly dry! Next Diaz started patching up the wound in his side, only asking questions when needed and which Trapper helpfully answered.

It took nearly a joor for him to patch Jazz up before he was satisfied that the youngling was going to make a full recovery.

“I’d feel better if you could bring him to the hospital. I’d want to run a check-up.”

“Ya know we can only go ta the hospital in two orns.”

Diaz sadly nodded. “I know, and I’ve patched him up as well as I can given what I brought with me. But if you really feel like he needs a medic before then, comm me.”

“Thanks. You’ve already taken a big risk by coming here today.” Trapper said as he escorted Diaz out of the building.

“I’m a medic first and foremost, and I don’t care about politics.”

Trapper nodded, “We know and appreciate it, but Ah won’t let you get into unnecessary trouble fer helpin’ one of mah own. Mah mechs will escort ya to the border of the Green zone. Anything specific Ah should do for Jazz?”

“Keep him refuelled and recharging enough for the patches to set and the new plating to integrate. I’d say try to keep him out of trouble, but this is _Jazz_.”

Trapper gave a mirthless smile. “Yeah, it’s _Jazz_. Though Ah’m gonna give him a good piece of my processor. His brother’s already breathin’ down mah neck about some habits Jazz’s got. Frag, Ah don’t even wanna know what his bro’s gonna say ta me about _this_ mess.”

“Good luck with it then.” Diaz transformed and Trapper motioned two of his mechs to escort the medic, “And comm me if you need anything or you’re unsure about something.” Diaz said as he started towards the hospital.

“Will do.” Trapper replied as he turned to go back into his apartment that also doubled as his gang’s headquarters. “Better tell Ric to get his aft over here after shift.” He mumbled to himself.

(Break)

The first thing Jazz became aware of when his systems booted was the pain that diffused throughout his entire body, but seemed to be focused in his shoulder.

The second thing he became aware of was the gunmetal grey form of Trapper looming over him.

Jazz smiled broadly at Trapper as he tried to push himself up, bracing against the pain that shot through his upper frame. “Hey, Trap.”

“Ah ought to lock ya up and throw away the keys.” Trapper grumbled as he helped Jazz to sit up higher on the couch. “Mind telling me what the frag ya were doing in D7?”

“D7?” Jazz struggled to remember what had happened. His processor was groggy and alerts were pinging across his HUD, warning him of the mending damage.

“Ya nearly got slagged, Jazz. Ya can thank yer lucky charms that Wreck and Slick heard the commotion and managed to haul yer aft to safety. Now, again, what the _Pit_ were ya doin’ there?”

Jazz tried to connect the memories and Trapper’s words until finally he remembered what had happened. The chase, him being captured, some more chasing, then pain, then nothing. Great. He was in deep slag. “Ah was comin’ home. Took the short-cut.”

“Ya took a short-cut through D7? Jazz! How many times do Ah have ta tell ya not to go through the other districts? Ya have any idea the trouble ya could cause us?”

“It cuts nearly a joor off from the normal route!” Jazz shot back, unapologetic.

“Watch yer tone with me, Jazz! Rather take another joor than risk yer, and by definition, our lives.” Trapper started pacing the room and Jazz realised for the first time that he was in the older mech’s apartment, in his living room on the couch to be exact. “Things have been relatively quiet between the districts the past few quartexes! And though Ah’d take up arms to protect mah district, Ah don’t wanna. It costs _lives_ Jazz, and ya might just have screwed that peace up by this little stunt ya pulled!” Trapper wiped his hands over his faceplate in agitation.

“Do ya have any idea what Ric’s gonna say about this?” Trapper asked and Jazz cringed. He had an idea.

“He trusts ya Jazz. Ah trust ya, but when ya go runnin’ around places ya aren’t supposed to be, ya breakin’ that trust!”

Jazz lay back on the couch and waited for Trapper to finish his tirade, not really caring what the older mech had to say. It was his life, and he could do with it as he pleased. He hadn’t asked them to look out for him, and even though he was aware of the repercussions of his actions, somehow it just didn’t bother him. Jazz silently counted the breems as Trapper continued to rage, until one sentence cut through his thoughts.

“He came to me and asked me, begged me to look out for ya.”

“Ah didn’t ask for it!” Jazz shouted, suddenly angry that Ricochet would go behind his back and frustrated to think that he was being sprakling-sitted. “Ya keep on treatin’ me like Ah’m still a sparkling! Ah ain’t!”

“Don’t get cocky with me!” Trapper stopped pacing and pointed a finger threateningly at Jazz. “Cause of yer little stunt Ah had to send out at least two more patrols to ensure that our district doesn’t come under fire, and that excludes those sent to escort Ric back here. Ah am not in the mood for yer histrionics or youngling slag!”

Jazz sank back sulkily on the couch, turning his helm away from Trapper as he inwardly seethed, not daring to take his anger out on Trapper and feeling all the more helpless for not being able to defend himself against the older mech. It only fuelled his anger.

After a few moment, he heard Trapper vent heavily.

“From now on, Ah’ll be sending someone to escort ya back from school.”

Jazz whipped his helm back to Trapper, his visor flashing in fury.

“And don’t even try to defy mah orders, Jazz.” Trapper ordered before Jazz could interject. “Am Ah clear?” He asked sternly.

Jazz pressed lips into a thin line and refused to answer.

“Jazz!” Trapper’s engine rumbled in warning.

“Fine.” Jazz grumbled and turned his helm away, the throbbing in his helm matching that of his shoulder.

“Good. Now Ah’ll bring ya some energon and then Ah suggest ya get some rest in before Ric comes to pick ya up.”

Jazz didn’t answer and grudgingly took the energon handed him without so much as a thank-you. He quietly sipped his energon and not long after he slipped into recharge.

(break)

“Trapper?” Ricochet called worriedly as he ran into the apartment.

Trapper caught him and pulled him into a tight embrace, feeling the smaller, black frame shiver and the field spiking with worry. Once again he had to stop himself from cursing the rebellious youngling. “He’s ok. He’s resting but the doc said he’d be fine.”

“When Trix met me at the end of my shift, Ah thought…” Ricochet cut his vocaliser as a small whine escaped him. “Where is he? Ah need to see him for myself.”

Trapper let him go and led him to his spare berthroom where he had laid Jazz after the youngling had fallen into recharge.

Ricochet hurriedly went to the berth and knelt next to Jazz, checking his younger brother over and listening to the cycling of his vents.

Trapper watched from the doorway until Ricochet gradually stood up and came towards him. Once past, Trapper closed the door and led Ricochet into the living room.

“What happened?” Ricochet asked wearily as he sank into the plush couch and watched Trapper do the same.

“Long and short, he was caught in D7 and the mechs there didn’t take too kindly to trespassing in their territory. Luckily, they didn’t shoot ta kill.”

“Primus.” Ricochet said as he dropped his face into his hand and groaned. “Please tell me he didn’t steal anything.”

“Nope. He at least had that common sense.” Trapper growled irritably as he folded his arms over his chassis.

“So what was he doing there?” Ricochet asked as he lifted his face out of his hands and leaned back into the couch, weariness rolling off of him.

“Apparently it’s a short-cut back from school.”

“But he knows he’s not allowed to trespass in any of Psyche’s districts! What if they retaliate?” Ricochet asked and his field once again spiked with terror.

“Shh, it’s ok.” Trapper soothed and went to sit next to Ricochet, dropping his arm around the younger mech’s shoulders and pulling him towards him. “They haven’t done anything yet so it looks like we might just have gotten away with it this time.”

Ricochet vented softly. “What am Ah going to do, Trap? Ah really thought things were starting to go better. Ever since our creators, Ah don’t know, Ah’ve just lost touch with Jazz.”

Trapper nodded but said nothing. To be honest he was still seething at Jazz, but Ricochet didn’t need to know that. The younger mech was distraught enough as it was.

“He’s smart. He could do so much better if he would just put his processor to it. But he just doesn’t care!” Ricochet moaned as he leaned into Trapper, thankful for the support. “What am Ah going to do?”

“There ain’t much you can do that ya haven’t already done, Ric. Yer doing a fantastic job so far.” Trapper said as he massaged little circles on Ric’s shoulder.

“If Ah’m doing such a fantastic job, then why is he laying on yer berth with a gunshot wound to the shoulder?”

“Ya can’t take responsibility for Jazz’s actions.” Trapper said sharply before calming both his field and tone. “Jazz knew the risks and he still took ‘em. But if it makes ya feel better, Ah’ve already told Wreck to escort Jazz home from school, via the Green Zone. He ain’t happy about it, but he _will_ comply.” Trapper’s field filled with determination and Ricochet relaxed against it, glad that Trapper was watching out for them.

“Thank-you.” Ricochet said as he rested against Trapper. “Ah just want what’s best for him, and Ah’m so scared he’ll screw up his chances to go to college.”

“Ric, Ah know ya mean well, but the chances of Jazz being accepted at college are slim.” Ricochet stiffened and started to pull away, but Trapper held him close. “Hear me out. College is expensive; you won’t be able to support the both of ya on yer meagre salary. He’d need a sponsor, and the chances that a mech will sponsor a youngling from Polyhex’s District Eight are almost non-existent. Ah know ya mean well, but ya have to be realistic about it, too.”

“So you think Ah should just leave it, that education and his reputation isn’t so important?” Ricochet asked quietly, but the subharmonics under his words warned Trapper to tread carefully.

“No, ya should still encourage him. He might get a better job for it, a higher paying one. But Ah don’t want either of ya crushed by unrealistic expectations.” Trapper said and smoothed his field against Ricochet, offering support and understanding.

“He might still get a sponsor.” Ricochet said stubbornly and Trapper decided to let it go. No point arguing something he knew he wasn’t going to win.

“Why don’t ya and Jazz spend the night? I’d feel better knowing that the two of ya are safe. Besides, the doc recommended Jazz get enough rest and Ah’d hate to wake him now.”

Ricochet nodded against Trapper’s shoulder. “Thanks, Ah’d appreciate it.”

“Good. Ah’ll get ya some energon and then it would probably be best fer ya ta get some recharge. Ya look beat.” With that, Trapper got up and went to the kitchenette to get some energon, leaving Ricochet alone on the couch with his thoughts.

_Primus Jazz. Why can’t ya just realise what’s at stake?_

(Break)

“How is the weapon coming along?” The disembodied voice drifted from the dark screen.

“Adequately. My testing field?” The one –opticed scientist asked as he stood in front of the blank screen.

“The High Council has agreed on Polyhex.” The voice said grudgingly. “The details will be sorted soon enough and you will have your field ready in another two quartexes. Will the time be adequate to test the weapon?”

“Yes.” The monotone voice droned.

“Means of distribution?”

The purple mech was quiet as he thought of the best means to release the weapon. “Energon.”

“Good. It would be easier to control then. That is all, I will contact you again in six decaorns. Have the sample ready by that time.”

The connection was abruptly cut, but Shockwave did not care. Soon his weapon would be tested, and he was looking forward to the results.


	5. Refiner's Fire

Charter sat in front of the screen monitoring the machines used in regulating the Sasol Energon Refinery’s systems, lazily reading a datapad. He was alone in the refinery’s control room, idly wiling the time away as he read in the silence of the room.

His job was a simple one – if any alerts were to sound, he was to shut off the processes immediately.

The refinery’s systems were complex and interlaced so deeply with one another that it was difficult to state where one began and another ended. And that is what made monitoring the systems crucial – if one machine’s programming malfunctioned, even for a few clicks, then it could set off a chain reaction that could have cataclysmic affects.

But in his entire twenty-three vorns Charter had been working at the refinery, nothing had ever sounded. Thus he was used to reading a datapad or two, only half-sparkedly paying attention to his job.

(break)

Ricochet walked up the aisle between the rows of complex machinery at the refinery. His shift was nearly done, and he was looking forward to some recharge and some energon, and if he was lucky, a chat with Jazz.

Working at the refinery, although it paid relatively well, was still a drudging job and the refinery itself was hot and loud.

_Beep_

Ricochet stopped at the sound and looked at the machine emanating the beep.

“What in the…” he murmured as he took a step closer. Fine wisps of steam were leaking through minor cracks in the casing, angrily rising towards the ceiling. Frowning he laid a hand to the metal. It felt hot to the touch, hotter than it should be. Stepping back, he activated his comm link to his supervisor, hoping that the mech was still on duty.

::Unit 264 reporting, please check readouts of collar unit 588::

::Unit 264, this is Supervisor 138. Request acknowledged. Continue with visual inspection::

::Yes sir. Unit 264 out:: Ricochet gave one last look at the machine and shrugged. Surely if something was wrong the control room would handle it or at least alert them to something.

He continued walking down the aisle on his inspection, ignoring the insistent _beeping_ of collar unit 588 as it eventually started fading away.

(Break)

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

Charter’s optics flew to the screen as he slung his datapad down. He quickly typed in his access codes as the room suddenly went into emergency lockdown, switching the lights from a warm orange to a dangerous red while the _beeping_ continued. Charter ignored it all as he ran diagnostics to try and determine which unit was sending errors.

A moment later the screen in front of him lit up.

Collar Unit 588.

Charter typed a few more commands to shut the system down and run a diagnostic.

_/Error code 1346/_

Charter frowned at the error, panic knotting his tank as he retyped the commands to shut the system down.

_/Error code 1346/_

_Frag!_ Charter jumped up, sending his chair flying as he ran towards the emergency evacuation siren. Slamming it hard, the sirens started screaming their warning to the refinery workers.

::To all units, emergency evacuation has been authorised. This is not a drill. I repeat, this is not a drill! Evacuate now!::

(break)

Ricochet logged his last report for the orn, thankful the orn was nearly over. He just needed to stop by the energon dispensers on his way home, and then hopefully he and Jazz could spend the evening together.

Ricochet smiled. Jazz was nearly fully recovered from his run-in with D7’s mechs, and Trapper had held true to his words with mechs escorting Jazz to and from school. Not that Jazz appreciated it. He had all but ignored Ricochet for at least a decaorn, and Trapper too, though in that case he wasn’t sure if Jazz was ignoring Trapper or if Trapper was ignoring Jazz. Either way, they had quickly gotten over their little scrap when gang violence started up again.

Thankfully, it hadn’t been Jazz’s fault, nor any of the D8 mechs. It had been a mech from District 5 that had gotten into a fight with a mech from District 4.

The D4 mech had not lived to see the next orn. 

Ricochet grimaced as he thought of District 4’s retaliation. It had been bloody, and they had nearly been involved once or twice. Thankfully, the fights appeared to be winding down.

Alarms suddenly blared and the refinery’s emergency lights came on, jarring Ricochet from his thoughts. _What’s going on?_ He thought as he stood looking around him.

_::To all units, emergency evacuation has been authorised. This is not a drill. I repeat, this is not a drill! Evacuate now!::_

Ricochet froze. _Evacuation?_

“Move kid!” a burly worker came rushing past Ricochet, shoving him out of his way as he ran towards the emergency exits.

Ricochet didn’t stop to think as he took off at a sprint after the mech. His processor went back to collar unit 588. If the machine had been damaged…Ricochet suddenly felt the urge to run even faster. The systems were extremely sensitive. If one malfunctioned, it could set off a chain reaction which could lead to a blast. Ricochet gritted his denta as pushed himself to run even faster.

There! Up ahead he could see the exit.

Only twenty more metres…

The ground shook beneath him, throwing him off his pedes as a deafening _boom_ sounded from all around him.

It was followed by a moment of intense pain before his vision blacked out.

 

(Break)

 

“Primus! What a quartex!” Diaz exclaimed as he flung himself onto his berth.

Ratchet mumbled his agreement as he un-subspaced a cube of energon and sat down on his own berth. “At least the fragging gangs seem to be settling down now. I have to admit I’ve never treated so many assault wounds in my entire career!”

“You should have seen a couple of quartexes back. It was horrible!” Diaz shivered as he shuttered his optics. “I just wish it would all stop.”

“Hmmm.” Ratchet agreed as he sipped his cube, thinking on everything he had noticed the past three quartexes he had been working at Polyhex.

_‘Politics’._

That had been the word Diaz had used two quartexes ago to describe what was happening in the city of Polyhex. But it was so much worse than that. It was a hierarchy. At the bottom of the pyramid were mechs from District 5, ‘belonging’ to a mech designated ‘Teron’, and District 8, belonging to a ‘Trapper’. The ‘middle’ districts were districts four, six and seven, led by a mech designated ‘Psyche’, who lived in District 1, oddly enough. From what Ratchet had heard, Psyche ruled by means of terror, manipulation and vengeance. Mechs from all districts were loath to cross him, because he was considered ‘untouchable’ and free to do as he pleased. Being the head Marshall at Dark Mount, he had power, and Flatfoot, the local police chief, turned a blind optic to whatever Psyche did. In fact, he sometimes deliberately aided the mech. His engine rumbled as he thought of the lax judicial system.

“Stop that.”

Ratchet jerked his helm towards Diaz. “What?”

“You’re thinking too much. Stop it I need to recharge.”

Ratchet smirked as he looked at the smaller mech sprawled out on the berth with his arm casually slung over his optics. “You want me to think outside?”

The arm was raised and one optic stared at Ratchet. “Depends.”

“On what?”

“What you are thinking about.”

Ratchet turned back to facing the opposite wall as he downed the last of his energon. “Politics.”

“Urgh.” Diaz dropped his arm again. “You’ll get used to it. At least you are a medic living in the Green Zone. Gang politics don’t apply to us.”

“Then why did you sneak out a couple of times to head into District 8?” Ratchet asked as he lifted his optic ridge in mock-challenge.

Diaz sat up abruptly, his expression worried and all signs of levity gone from him. “How do you know?”

Ratchet was taken aback by the sudden seriousness of Diaz’s tone, and wondered briefly if he should have kept his mouth shut. But then again, he wasn’t the kind of mech to hold back on what he thought. “I saw you slip out a couple of time. Of course Luna wouldn’t tell me, only told me to ‘mind my own fragging business’. One evening I happened to be out gathering some personal supplies when I saw you heading towards that district. Technically, you were still on shift, so I followed you to the border, where some mechs made it impossible for me to go through.”

Diaz stared at Ratchet, his optics still retaining their worried look.

Ratchet sighed as he tossed his empty cube into the waste bin. “Listen, if you go there on your off-time, it’s none of my business, but you were on shift. I’m honestly trying to figure out what the frag is going on in this place. I don’t want to get slagged ‘accidently’ because I went to the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Diaz vented heavily and scooted back to rest against the far wall. “I know how you feel, and you’re right. We haven’t been overly open with you. It’s just so difficult with everything going on. But what I said was true, as a medic, you are mostly exempt from the unspoken rules that govern this city. That does not make it safe. I have been slipping out to see a youngling that was shot two quartexes ago.”

“A youngling?!” Ratchet exploded. “Why the frag wasn’t he brought to the clinic? And who the fragging Pit would shoot a youngling anyway?”

“Calm down, Ratchet. It happens. Usually they don’t aim to kill unless the youngling had stolen something or harmed a mech from an opposing district. This particular youngling has a knack for getting into trouble.”

“Did he steal something?” Ratchet asked, slightly perturbed that a youngling would steal or Primus forbid harm someone.

“No. He just trespassed, hence only a shot in the shoulder.”

“Primus. Shooting a youngling for trespassing.” Ratchet shook his head as he laid back on his berth. _Dino should have done his internship here._

“Yes, I know. But you will get used to it. Now recharge. We don’t know when we’ll be able to get a decent charge again.” Diaz said as he also laid down.

Ratchet just shook his helm as he started cycling down for the evening.

::Get your afts to the emergency bay! NOW!::

Both Ratchet and Diaz sprang up at the sound of Kaput’s voice over their comms. They had a moment to share a confused look before they sprang up and ran for the emergency bay. They’ll have their answers soon enough.

They arrived to see Luna laying out various tools and Kaput busy prepping for emergency operations.

“What happened?” Diaz barked as he went to assist Luna, while Ratchet headed towards Kaput.

“Explosion at the Sasol Refinery. Casualties are incoming. Diaz, you are in surgery. Ratchet, triage. Luna, you assist me. Have you contacted Rosanna and Alert?”

“On their way.”

“Good. Rosanna will assist Diaz. Alert’s with you Ratchet. ETA: one breem.”

Ratchet cursed softly as he prepared his triage unit. Ideally they should have had at least four more qualified medics _and_ six more nurses. Not only two extra field technicians.

The hospital doors burst open and the first of the casualties started rolling in. Ratchet grimaced as he saw their scorched frames. Some patients were online and screaming from the severe pain caused by the metal burns, while others were mercifully offline.

 The unconscious ones were sent directly to the scanners in the surgery ward, where Kaput, Luna and Diaz were waiting. The screaming ones were brought to him.

Ratchet tried to hold his latest patient still, but the mech was in severe pain and lashing out at anything trying to touch him.

Ratchet groaned as a fist connected with his jaw and he struggled to pin the mechs arms to the berth. _Where the frag are those slagging technicians?_ Ratchet looked around and spotted one of the paramedics depositing an injured mech on another berth.

“You! Mech! What’s your name?” He called out.

“First Responder Ambulon, sir.”

“Get over here and pin this fragger down!”

Ambulon scurried over to the mech and pinned him as he cast a worried glance at the irate medic. But Ratchet ignored him as he focused on sticking a needle into one of the mech’s energon lines. Finally Ratchet found one and quickly injected the sedative into the patient, thankful when the thrashing mech relaxed.

“Good. Pass me those cutters!”

Ambulon looked behind him and reached for what he assumed were cutters. He held it towards the medic as he wondered how soon he could slip away to return to the refinery. Many of Sasol’s workers were still unaccounted for.

Ratchet continued cutting and sealing off the life-threatening wounds, asking Ambulon when he needed something, but otherwise ignoring the young mech in favour of focusing and saving his patient. After what seemed like an eternity he was able to move on to the next patient. Ambulon left as soon as Ratchet moved on to the next patient, but thankfully Alert came to assist, having arrived at the clinic a few breems earlier.

Ratchet spared a quick glance at the mechs filling up the bay and felt his spark sank. The casualties were too many, and they were too few.

Setting his jaw determinedly, Ratchet bent his helm and continued working.

(Break)

Ricochet woke to a sea of agonizing pain as he struggled to online his optics. He felt hot, and his audials were filled with metal screeches and groans. His optics finally onlined and he stared out in front of him without anything in his line of vision making sense.

It was dark, and he could barely make out the forms around him in the dim orange glow that emanated from…somewhere.

He tried to moved, but pain overwhelmed him. He purged his tanks, and grimaced at the burning sensation and extra pain it cuased.

His HUD lit up in red and he tried blearily to focus on the words and what they meant.

  _/Warning: overheating/_

 _What…?_ He shuttered his optics against the pain and groaned.

The fogginess finally started to recede from his dazed processor as memories swirled around just beyond the horizon of his understanding. The pain was making it difficult to focus, and more than anything he wanted to rest. But his HUD kept insisting and slowly Ricochet felt the trickle of understanding dawn on him.

The warnings. The evacuation. The explosion.

His optics onlined with a start as realisation hit him harder than a triple-changer.

He was still in the refinery.

Or what was left of it.

 _Jazz_.

The thought flashed through his processor, filling him with both dread and determination. He had to get out of here. He ran a quick self-diagnostic, hoping that nothing was serious.

A moment later the results pinged in his HUD and he grimaced at the results. So much for hoping nothing was serious. For a brief second he debated giving up, of just giving in to the darkness and pain, but images of Jazz kept floating through his HUD. Determination came back. He deleted the list of errors in his HUD and focused on the present. He could do this.

He looked around, ignoring the pain that came with moving his helm as he assessed his surroundings. He lay on his side, pinned by what appeared to be…beams. Yes. Metal support beams. He remembered being close to the exit. So he should be near the surface. If he could just move the beams that were pinning him down…

Slowly, he moved his arms down, gritting his denta against the pain. He could do this. For Jazz. He pushed against the beam pinning his leg.

He cried as his neural net flared in searing agony. He stopped, overwhelmed by pain as he dragged heavy, hot air through his vents and fought down the nauseousness. He had to get out of here. He couldn’t die here. He couldn’t leave Jazz.

He pushed again and felt the metal budge, but it wouldn’t move further than an inch.

He tried again and again until he didn’t have the strength to push again. It was getting unbearably hot, and he was struggling to vent with the thick smoke billowing around him. He shuttered his optics against the harsh reality starting to dawn on him. If he could just talk to Jazz…

 _Talk_. _Of course. Why didn’t I…think?_ He tried his comm, but only static filtered through the open line. Maybe a different line? He tried Trapper. No luck.

Ricochet felt his hope and determination crumble. He didn’t have the strength left to move, his processor felt foggy, the heat was suffocating, the pain was overwhelming, and he was losing energon.

And in that moment he knew.

He was going to die here.

“Jazz.” He whispered brokenly as tears slid down through his shuttered optics.

(Break)

Ambulon dug through the wreckage as fast as he could. His acute scanners had picked up a spark-signature in this area, and he was determined to get to it. He was not going to watch another mech go grey.

He scanned again, noting the spark-signature getting weaker, but nearer. _Almost there. Just hang on._ He silently begged as he tried to ignore his rising core temperature.

He finally managed to dig through to the spark signature.

A black mech, unconscious, but alive, lay in a small chamber barely high enough for him to stand upright in his bipedal mode.

He hurriedly looked around the mech, assessing the structural integrity and also what he would need to lift the beams pinning the mech down.

::Hoist! I found another one. Alive! Get over here and bring the hydraulic pressure jacks.::

Ambulon knelt next to the mech’s helm and ran his scan over him. “Frag.” The mech had some serious fractures and at least two main lines, and multiple secondary and tertiary lines broken and leaking. Not to mention the metal burns covering him. But he was venting, although shallow, and he had a somewhat steady sparkpulse. That was what mattered at the moment.

::Phew, this is a tight corner:: Hoist commed as he joined Ambulon. ::What’s his status?::

::Unresponsive, bleeding out, multiple lacerations and burns, spinal strut seems broken, not sure about the pelvic unit, and it appears like open fractures on both his legs in at least three places. He’s a mess.::

::We need to get him out of here. The smoke and heat is getting to me, so I don’t even want to know how his systems are looking:: Hoist said as he scanned the beams for the best area to place the hydraulic jacks.

::Get ready to pull him out on my mark.::

::We need to be careful! We don’t know what’s wrong.:: Ambulon remarked as he shifted position to be able to brace and drag the unconscious mech out.

::We focus on saving his life right now, nothing else.:: Hoist activated the hydraulics and crouched back, getting into position to assist Ambulon. ::Almost…Now!::

They both pulled at the same time, bracing the black mech’s frame as best they could. When he was finally out from under the beams, Hoist and Ambulon laid him down.

::I’m going to strap him, but we need to get him out of here. I’ll take him to the clinic if you could load him into me once we’re out of this inferno!::

Hoist nodded as he watched Ambulon strap the mech. With a nod, he lifted the mech and followed Ambulon out.

Once outside, Hoist gulped in the cooler air as he waited for Ambulon to finish transforming. “Hope you get him to the clinic on time.” He said as he placed the mech inside.

“I will.”

(Break)

 _Four_.

That’s how many mechs had already extinguished in his unit. Under his hands.

Ratchet shook his helm and moved away from the grey frame towards the next casualty. He had to continue moving. Kaput and Diaz had their hands full in the surgical unit, with a waiting list. Three mechs he knew of had extinguished while waiting for life-saving surgery.

They were losing this battle.

One that, had they had the right resources, should have been won.

“Alert, go around the casualties. Scan each one and call me immediately if any of the damages are life-threatening. Then, insert energon IV’s to those who desperately need it and start patching up the worst cases.”

Alert nodded and Ratchet turned his attention back to the semi-conscious mech laid out on the berth in front of him. He was already in shock, but hopefully the damages weren't enough to cost him his spark. The IV drip aught to take care of his shock. Ratchet set to work.

Two breems in, he was startled when a mech grabbed his shoulder. Cursing, he swung towards the mech. “ _What!?_ ”

The mech took a step back, and Ratchet recognised him as the first responder.

“There’s a mech that desperately needs care.”

Ratchet huffed in irritation as he turned back to his patient. “They all need desperate care you glitchead!"

The mech, Ambulon, Ratchet’s processor reminded him, came round and stood on the other side of the berth, facing Ratchet.

“Medic please. I just spent a joor digging this one out and it’s only the second one I’ve been able to get here alive. Please.”

Ratchet glared at the first responder. The patient under him was stable, so technically he could throw an optic over the other one. He vented harshly. “Argh, fine!”

“Thank-you!” Ambulon breathed as he hurried towards another berth, Ratchet in tow.

Ratchet grimaced as he saw the damages to the mech, and knew instantly that he should be on the surgery list, which, unfortunately, bode ill for the poor spark.

Still, Ratchet had said he would throw an optic over the mech, and he would at least keep his word. He plugged in and ran a quick diagnostic coupled with an external scan, fully aware of Ambulon’s optics on him.

“Initial damages include broken backstrut, fractured pelvic unit, two broken main lines in upper right chassis, one punctured main line in the upper left chassis, multiple secondary and tertiary lines broken, especially at the open fractures on his lower left leg and upper right leg. Metal burns cover probably over sixty-five percent of his frame. I’ve stabilised him best I could.” Ambulon rattled off.

Ratchet threw him a surprised look. It appeared as if the mech had more knowledge than did their field technicians. This mech might just be Primus-sent. “Alright. Since you want me to look at him, you are going to help me!”

Ambulon blanched but nodded. “What do you want me to do?”

“Attach the sparkmonitor. Then, get an energon IV. You know how to insert it? Good. Insert it in the right arm above the elbow.” Ratchet transformed his arm into a laser scalpel and started cutting away at the plating on the mech’s chassis.

Ambulon returned and did what he was told, watching as Ratchet crimped the broken main lines and bypassed the broken areas with artificial lines. “Fetch sterile, silver-coated burn-plasters in the cabinet second to your left.”

“You want me to place it on the side of his helm?” Ambulon asked as he moved to do just so.

Ratchet only grunted and moved to the open fractures on the mech’s legs. He started crimping and sealing off the energon lines, but the struts would have to be set in proper surgery.

The sparkmonitor sent out a warning beep and Ratchet immediately focused his attention on the readouts. The patient’s venting was too shallow and fast, and the sparkpulse rate was slowing. Ambulon had frozen in what he was doing and looked nervously at Ratchet.

“Shock.” Ratchet said by means of explanation, briskly moving towards the drug cabinet. He grabbed a dose of saline and another IV drip with enriched medical grade energon, and ran back to the berth.

“Medic Ratchet!” Alert’s panicked voice called from across the room.

“Slag!” Ratchet cursed as he looked towards Alert. He turned back to Ambulon. “Insert this! Quick! Check to see if the readouts improve or at least stabilise. If they hold stable for two breems, join me! If not, call me!”

With that, Ratchet turned and ran towards Alert.

(Break)

The mech screeched to a halt outside the tall, three-story apartment and rapidly transformed. “Trapper!”

He bolted up the stairs, his spark pounding as he took the stairs two at a time. “Trapper!”

He barrelled through the door on the top floor, and nearly bowled Trapper over.

“What is it?” Trapper demanded, his optics bright with concern as he steadied the mostly green and white mech.

The mech sucked air through his vents, desperately trying to cool his vents. “Refinery…energon exploded…mechs caught…in the blast…Some of ours too.”

Trapper felt his energon go cold in his lines. He grabbed the mech’s shoulders and shook him. “Which one?”

“Sasol.” The mech huffed.

_Sasol. Primus, Ric worked at Sasol._

Trapper took a step back as he stared at the mech. “Casualties?” He croaked as he tried to establish a connection with Ricochet. _Please just answer yer fragging comm!_

“Unknown. But there are a coupla mechs dead. Lotta confusion at the moment. Looks bad though.”

Trapper tried again to reach Ricochet, and again the connection failed. He felt dread creeping into his systems. He needed to be there. Steeling himself, he looked at the mech.

“Right. Let’s go.”

**Author's Note:**

> This work has actually been in the making for more than two years, ever since I watched a documentary on diseases. It also forms part of Ratchet and Jazz's background in my 'Wait in the Wings' series, which is background information on my story "I'll Be There". Just a note...the stories I post here will probably contain some deleted scenes...if I decide to include them.  
> I try to use as many canon characters as possible, but sometimes I have to use my own characters as fillers if I can't find a mech suitable. This universe is also very AU, but I do incorporate elements out of most of the different transformers universes.  
> Anyway, enough boring details, hope you enjoy the series. :)


End file.
